‘That’s correct.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Maguire. That’s all I need to know, for now.’

‘What happened to your face?’ she asked, her eyes softening as she looked at him. ‘That does look nasty.’

‘I tripped,’ said Farmer.

Paddy came into the station at two that afternoon and went into Farmer’s office. The glass had been replaced so they could talk without being overheard.

‘Right, boss.’ Paddy heaved his bulk into a chair. ‘Land Registry were a great help. And the council. There was another building on that site before the high rise but it was burned out. I looked through the microfiche files in the local paper’s offices. There was a fire all right, it was biggish news at the time. In a first-floor flat there, chip pan apparently, that happens a lot, a neighbour raised the alarm and the people living in the ground-floor flat were cleared out. Nobody was hurt. Weird, though. Chip pan, you think someone’s settling in for the evening, but there were no bodies in the flat. None whatsoever.’

‘And?’ prompted Farmer.

‘Land Registry confirmed that the owner of the first-floor flat at that time was one Donald Maguire. Fiona Maguire may be able to give us details of the solicitor who did the conveyancing on their house. It’s possible Maguire used that same one when he purchased the flat. Personally, I don’t think it’s likely. He was a devious sod, it was all smoke and mirrors with him. He probably farmed it out to someone else.’

Farmer had to smile at all that, even though it hurt.

‘You fucking beauty,’ he said to Paddy.

‘Thanks, boss,’ said Paddy with a modest smile. ‘Also . . .’

‘Also . . . ?’

‘This is the interesting part. The fire happened on the same day as Donny Maguire was last seen.’

133

Once again there’d been a massive shift in Angel’s life. She was actually getting used to trauma now. First there’d been the flat, Mum and Donny, and the haunting horror that had happened on that last day. Then there was Lenny and living it fast and large. An emperor and his empress. Well, that just had to come crashing to an end, and it had. No big surprise, really. Everything in her life seemed doomed to turn to shit, in the end.

So she was living the single life again, and to her surprise she found herself quite enjoying the freedom of it. As Mrs Axelford, she had felt like a bird in a gilded cage, often uncomfortable with Lenny’s luxe style of living. Now – at last – she could be more herself. She paid Tom rent promptly every week, they had a great laugh together. Her finances were going down, and the job situation was a pain, but something had to give on that, eventually. She was chasing around for jobs, but she was qualified for fuck all and so wasn’t ever very surprised when she was shown the door.

‘So come and work here, for me,’ said Tom one evening when she’d popped into the club he managed and they were sitting in his office, Angel complaining about not having a job, Tom listening sweetly, just as he always did. Billy Ocean was singing ‘When the Going Gets Tough’ out in the main body of the club. When she didn’t answer, he added: ‘Lenny phoned me.’